


Fang Gang

by Anonymous



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, Gerard Way - Fandom, MCR - Fandom, Mikey Way - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, my chem - Fandom, ray toro - Fandom
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, Bandom Big Bang, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-22 12:26:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Frank saves Mikey by turning him into a vampire, he's got more than one problem on his hands. For one, there's the whole, vampire gang menacing the streets of Jersey and rise of vampire hunters, who are out to avenge their family members' deaths. As well, as the fact that one of those hunters name is Gerard Way. He definitely wants to kill Frank. And Frank is definitely in love with him.Continue reading to find out what happens to these monster fuckers as they try to not kill each other, and solve the mystery of who's been turning people in the first place. And how can people like Frank, regain their humanity?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ya yeet, this went from one sentence I had in the car driving home to a possible 50k fan fic. lmao. oops. here's the first chapter, ig. :/

Frank’s stomach growled furiously, he clutched his abdomen and used his other hand to steady himself against a wall. The world swung in and out of focus, like carnival lights through squinted lashes. Everything felt as if it were blushing, drunkenly. “Fuck.” Frank gasped, resting his forehead against the cool brick of the alleyway. The rough surface cut into his skin, but he welcomed the pain. Anything was better than the growing hole that was forming in his stomach. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He spat each word out, like it was made of acid. This was the part he always hated, the part where he had to decide. Whether or not he’d rather starve to death, or… or. His mind quieted, not wanting to finish off that last part. It was better not to think about this. Maybe this time he’d have enough control. He’d simply ride out the hunger pains, the shaking in his hands, the splitting headache and icy chill that ran up and down his spine. Until it faded into nothing, like morphine being shot into his veins. He’d lick up every last bit of his own destruction, until it tasted like starlight on his tongue. Until, he’d simply fade into it. 

Another bout of hunger pains stabbed through Frank’s stomach and he let out a yelp, turning so that his back was pressed to the wall. He slowly slid down it, until he was crumpled over his knees. His head, tilted back so that he could see the sky dancing above him. The stars winked back at him, like rotting teeth in a monster’s mouth. “Stop laughing at me.” He muttered. The universe had been using Frank as its toy ever since December of last year.   
Frank, in his pity party, let the memory come back to him. It had been a frigid night, and Frank had been staying over at Brian’s house until dawn started to shiver its way out of the horizon. The temperature had dipped into the single digits, turning everything the wind touched into a walking popsicle.   
“Don’t go out in that shit, Frankie.” Brian had said, as Frank started to collect his things. “You could hit black ice or somethin’, and I can’t have you dying on me.” He pointed a pair of chopsticks at him. They had ordered take out, and there was still some leftovers scattered on the table. For a moment, Frank had hovered by the door. The temptation between the fried rice, and full-feeling of his stomach, placing a haze over everything. Who wanted to go out into the freezing fucking cold, when Brian had a couch and a heater?

But then, reality sunk back in. Frank had work at 8 a.m., and there was no way he was going to make it, if he stayed at Brian’s. And he was already dangerously close to getting his own ass fired. (An incident with the ice cream machine had gone awry, and had caused Triple Nut Blast to get all over the kitchen.) (It was safe to say, Frank’s manager hadn’t been too pleased to have been informed that there was triple nut juice all over everything.)   
Frank let out a heavy sigh, throwing his keys up in the air and then catching them before they fell, “I gotta work, Brian. You know that.”

“Call in sick. That’s bullshit! The roads are covered in ice!” Brian exclaimed, jumping up from the couch. “Is your job really worth your life?”

“Without my job, I can’t afford my goddamn life. That’s capitalism, babe.” Frank teased. 

Brian groaned, “Shit, fine. Just be safe.” He threw an ice scraper at Frank, which he fumbled with before catching it. “You’ll need that, Iero. Thank me later.” 

“Goodbye Brian.” Frank sang as he opened the door, letting the chill morning spill into the living room. Brian cursed, practically hissing at mother nature as she invaded his house. 

“Shut the goddamn door!” Brian called after Frank, as he had pulled the door close, and had headed out into the still-night. That waited, like an egg, waiting to be cracked open into dawn. 

The memory faded, as the pain intensified. Frank felt sweat beading at his brow, as he tried to focus on the world around him. Any moment now, and he’d lose his last bit of restraint. He’d descend into that dark place, and by this time tomorrow night he’d have more blood on his hands, than a filthy rich politician. Frank swore, banging his head back into the brick wall. He had to get to Ray’s place soon, or else he was going to turn the entire town into an All-You-Can-Eat-Buffet.   
Frank stumbled to his feet, and started to make his way towards the vague direction, in which he remembered leaving his car. Laughter filled the alley, and for a second, Frank wondered if God was truly mocking his pain. It wouldn’t surprise him, he turned his head over his shoulder to curse up at the sky, but his attention was caught by a blur of movement, down at the other end of the alleyway. Steam was rising up from the grates in the ground, making it hard to make out the silouhettes. But Frank could see a group of guys, huddled around something. Their figures dancing like shadow puppets. Adrenaline kicked into Frank’s chest, he could smell them.   
The scent of their blood, rosey, and full of decay, flooded Frank’s system. Saliva pooled into his mouth, his incisors, starting to push their way through his gums. A moan escaped his lips, without his consent as he blindly started to fumble his way towards the group. He couldn’t stop himself, the only thoughts that filled his mind was longing for the crisp, salty taste of blood on his lips. The type that blurred his vision, and filled him with infinity on high. As if he had tipped the stars into a wine glass, and had drunk until he saw visions of heaven itself. 

He needed that fucking juice. The same way humans needed oxygen, or beauty sleep. They were shouting, the sound bounced inside of Frank’s skull. Until the noise twisted itself into a lullabye of screams, the types of screams that would bloom from their throats, as Frank tore into them. They didn’t even notice him, he was a panther, a shadow, the fucking grim reaper himself -  
And then Frank caught his reflection in a puddle. He could see the veins, spreading out from his eyes in black rivulets. His eyes, a starved crimson started to fade when they met their own gaze. He looked deranged, like a stolen version of himself. Frank started to come to his senses, his own thoughts staining his conscious as he realized… he had wanted blood. He had wanted to kill for it.   
In fact… he still almost-wanted it. The sensation of the senseless greed tugged in his stomach, like a riptide that had threatened to drag him out to sea. It took all of Frank’s strength to fight against it. He took another glance at the group of boys, and disgust pinched at his insides. He needed to get to Ray’s house so he could take a bath, and drown himself in beer.   
Plus… Ray’s company could solve any problem, and that was one thing that Frank was entirely sure of. So, he turned on his heels and started to make his way back to his car. This time, his head was clear, despite the horror that was ripping its way through his stomach… 

And then there that scream… that ripped through the night, like lightning tearing a hole through the great big beyond. It was desperate… and so… so… scared.   
Frank recognized that noise… it sounded like how he had… on that night… that night when -

“I don’t want to die! Don’t fucking touch me! I said, don’t fucking-” It was a guy, a young guy, from what Frank could tell. It came from the group that Frank had almost turned into human-capri sun pouches, only a few moments before. It took Frank a second to realize, that they weren’t just having a jack-off session in the middle of an alley way… they were fucking mugging someone. Anger tore a hole through what was left of his restraint, if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was bullies.   
He placed his hands on the brick wall beside him, and silently prayed for a moment that his weird powers would kick in, despite the fact that he was weak as all hell. He started to climb, his hand slipping after a few steps, but he regained his footing quickly. Frank crawled his way up the wall, and onto the fire escape, and then the roof.   
The thing was, sure Frank had weird demonic capabilities that had been “bestowed upon him” by the dark one, himself. Or at least, that was quote, unquote what Luke claimed. But, he was still 5’6, and low on battery power. Taking on a group of guys that were twice his size, wasn’t the best possible choice he could make at that moment in time.   
However, sneaking up on them could give Frank an extra edge, and that was all he needed. 

Once Frank was on the roof, he stationed himself so that he was right above where the group was huddled. He could then see, that they were in fact, towering over a smaller kid who looked like he had lost a fight with a straight iron. One of the guys, was holding a gun and had it pointed at the kid, as he emptied out his pockets. From here, Frank could hear him saying, “Listen, I don’t have any fucking money!! This is all I have!” But the guys weren’t having any of it… they wanted more than just money…   
They wanted blood.

Frank let out a sigh, standing up and popping his neck. “Ladies and gentleman prepare yourselves… as Frank Iero takes the high dive - “

Down below the click of the gun cocking, echoed off the walls. That were bent over the figures, like nosey old ladies. 

Frank bent his knees, preparing himself to jump, “In one spectacular display of -”

The kid began to sob, “Please, you can’t do this to me -”

“Stop crying, or I’ll blow your brains out, fucko.” The guy replied, a cruel smile creeping its way onto his face. “Tell me, how do you look in red?”

“Self destruction.” Frank finished, and then jumped off the edge of the building. The wind rushed past his ears, as he plummeted to the ground below. The world’s colors blended together, until they all sang together, like a symphony of grey and yellow. New Jersey’s shine, couldn’t even cut through the crimson headache that pounded through Frank’s head as he smacked into the pavement. The sound of a gun firing went off, and another pain shot through Frank’s chest. It felt as if a snake had bit him in the goddamn tit. “Mother! Fucker!” Frank exclaimed. Blood was pouring from his mouth, as he sat up.   
His neck was turned 180 degrees, and he was looking straight up at a blonde kid. Who couldn’t be older than 18, his mouth dropped open into a wide O. “What? You’ve never seen a double axel performed off of a 20 story building before?”

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?” Asked one of the other guys. Frank twisted his neck around with a sickening pop. Half the group shivered, collectively at the noise. “Who the fuck are you? Some sorta goddamn mutant?” 

“Do I look like Wolverine to you, jack-ass?” Frank hissed. The kid all but sewed his mouth shut. Frank turned so that he could see the victim, a stick-like kid who wore glasses all the way at the bottom of his nose. One of the lenses was cracked, and blood was pouring from his nose. He was staring at Frank with an awe-struck look on his face. “Were they fucking with you, kid?” Frank asked.

The kid looked from Frank to the group, who seemed to all take a big step away from Frank at once. All except for the one guy with a gun. “Y-Yes.” He stuttered out. He frowned, “Who are you?”

“Your guardian angel, baby.” Frank replied. He pushed himself up to his feet, and took a deep breath before saying loudly, “Listen. For all you shits know, I am a God sent here to fuck your absolute sorry asses up for being a pile of dick bags to this kid right here. Either you take yourselves back home to your moms and have a self-pity jerk off session, or I’ll unleash unholy reckoning onto all of you.”

Half the guys backed out, but the guy with the gun barked back at them, “Don’t listen to him! He’s a crack head! Help me gut him, and I’ll pay you later!” 

“Yeah fuckin’ right! He’s a crack head that just survived a 20 story drop onto the pavement!” Said the blonde kid, as he started to turn to make a run for it, “He could be the anti-christ for all we know!”

Frank smirked, he liked the sound of that. The kid with the glasses turned to him, looking dazed and a bit like he forgot to turn the stove off at home. “Are you the anti-christ?”  
Before Frank could answer, a sharp pain shot through his skull. His jaw smacked into the rough brick of the wall, as a guy shoved him into it. “You should’ve minded your own goddamn business. Now I am gonna have to kill you, too.”   
Frank started to mutter something. The guy growled, “What?!” Frank continued to try to speak, until he finally let up, and pulled Frank away from the wall.

“I said, you can’t kill what’s already dead, asshole.” Frank then, smacked his head into the other guy’s forehead. After that, all hell broke loose. The guys all lunged for Frank, Frank was little and he used that to his advantage as he ducked between them, dodging their punches as if he were a pro-wrestler. One guy had a switch blade in one hand, and tried to take a jab at Frank. Frank jumped onto another guy’s back, just as the guy lunged forward with the blade. It’s sharp edge sunk into the other guy’s arm. He let out a cry, and Frank jumped off of him. There were only three left. Frank was winning, Frank was -  
Another gun shot went off, and Frank closed his eyes, preparing himself for the pain. But it didn’t come.   
He opened his eyes again, and a sinking feeling dragged into through his gut. “What the fuck did you just do?” Frank asked.

“Don’t take it personally, babe.” The guy with the gun said in a mocking tone. A shadow had fallen over the alley, the moon’s silver light had been cloaked by a cloud. The man looked more menacing now, he was a devil in hiding. Frank just wish he had realized that sooner. “It’s just business.” 

“C’mon, lets book it before the cops come!” Said one of the boys. They all started to take off, one by one, down the alley. Frank watched them go, swearing at them as they ran, like a pack of wolves. His attention though, was drawn away by the sound of a low moan. It was hard to believe that it actually came from a human. It sounded like something that could only be made from the low groan of stars, grinding themselves together. Until they were nothing but dust.

Frank turned to see the kid, hunched over on the ground, cradling his stomach. “Do you hear that, too?” He asked, softly.

Frank collapsed onto his knees next to him, placing his hands on his shoulders and tilting his head up so that he was looking at him. Rage, confusion and fear wrapped their cold icy hands around Frank’s heart, until all he could make sense of was the smell of blood that was pouring from the wound. “What do you hear?” Frank asked, calmly. But he was anything but that.

“The ringing… it sounds like -”

“Kid- “ Frank started.

“Angels.” He finished.

“What’s your name?” Frank asked softly. He tried to pick him up, but the kid hissed in pain when Frank tried to move him. Helplessness was clawing its way up Frank’s throat in the form of a sob, as he stared at this other… human being. This human being that he could’ve saved, but he had failed. Failed. Failed.

“Mikey. My name’s Mikey.” Blood was starting to leak from the side of Mikey’s mouth. Frank held him closely, wrapping his arms around him so that he was warm. Mikey’s head rested against Frank’s chest, Frank ran his hands through his hair. His finger slick with sweat that was beading itself on Mikey’s forehead, humming softly, they stayed there like that, in silence until he spoke up again. “My brother is going to kill me.”

“I think it’s a little late for that, bud.” Frank muttered. He cringed, and hoped that he hadn’t caught that sentence.

“This is his favorite Iron Maiden T-shirt.” Mikey laughed. The wind-chime noise faded, and a more serious shadow crossed his face. “I don’t want to die.” His voice trembled as the words escaped his mouth. “Please… don’t let me die. I don’t… I don’t want to go. Not yet. Please.” He was begging Frank for a mercy that he didn’t know how to give unless -

Unless… 

Another hunger pain shot itself through Frank’s stomach and he cursed his own weakness. The responsible thing to do would be to hold Mikey’s hand until he drifted off into that blissful sleep. Until his heart finally gave out, like a missed note in a symphony. Until everything drained out of him, like sunlight leeching itself from winter’s harsh landscape. But… the starving part of Frank… no, the hopeful part of Frank. Knew he could do something more.  
But at what cost?

Frank bit his lip, and drew blood. His teeth were already starting to peek their way through, betraying his ill intentions. “What if… I told you, I could save you?” 

“Does this go along with that whole God thing, you mentioned earlier?” Mikey joked. His eyes were starting to turn a glassy, as he stared up at a point just past Frank’s head. As if trying to seek divine intervention from the stars. 

“It.. sorta does.” Frank said. And technically, he wasn’t lying. “I can save you, but promise you won’t kill me afterwards.” He said, quickly.

Mikey made a “mmm” sound. His face paled, his body too weak to make a proper reply. Frank swore, saying a soft “I am sorry” to no one in particular, before sinking his teeth into Mikey’s neck. The soft flesh ripped apart, juicy and raw, like a tangerine. Blood rushed to the surface, flooding Frank’s mouth until he was drowning in a feral type of ecstacy. Adrenaline rushed through Frank’s body, as he drank, and Mikey’s body convulsed below him. He felt as if he truly were a God. Strength returned to his body, and the world bloomed into full color. The smells, the noises, the sounds, all running to greet him. Frank trembled, he was going to fucking drain Mikey dry if he didn’t stop, soon. But it was… so good. Relief was a drug, and it was addicting. Frank wanted to bathe in this type of bliss for the rest of his days, until everything was this painless, this euphoric, this -

There was the banging noise of a car door being slammed. Frank snapped out of his frenzy, and withdrew his fangs from Mikey’s neck. Mikey was unconscious, his eyes still staring up at the sky like a hopeless wanderer, trying to find their way home in the stars. “Mikey?” Called a voice. Frank cursed, again. And gently placed Mikey’s head onto the ground.

“You’ll wake up in 12 hours. Don’t do anything I would do. Also you can’t turn into a bat, so don’t try to fly. I still have scars from jumping out my bedroom window... “ Frank paused, and took a quick breath, “I’ll see you soon, Mikey.” Frank said. Whether or not Mikey could actually hear him, he wasn’t sure. Someone was approaching around the corner, Frank took one last look at Mikey before disappearing into smoke. Leaving behind nothing but a pool of blood, and one of his busted up converse.


	2. Blood Stains

Gerard had only gotten two texts from his brother that night. He stared down at them now, as he stood outside the front of Mackey’s bar. One read, “I’ll be home soon.” Gerard blinked at the words, until they started to swim through his brain. Like radiostatic being scrambled. The bar was closed, and dawn was starting to peel away the edges of night. The fruit of darkness, sweet and tangy on his tongue, like a pomegranate. He could smell morning on the horizon, waiting to bloom. Gerard shivered in the chill. “Mikey… where are you?” He asked, his voice only received by the street lamp that stood like a sentry, next to him.  
Gerard studied the last text his little brother had sent, all it said was, “I am being followed.” The digital lines of text sent a chill running up and down Gerard’s spine. As if the grim reaper were running her fingernails across his pale skin. Desperation was starting to get the best of him. He had jumped into his car, and flown to the bar as fast as he could once he had received the text. This was Mikey’s usual Saturday night haunting ground. Gerard had expected to find him black out drunk, and passed out on the bathroom floor. And that, would be a problem in of itself. Nevermind Mikey’s cryptic fucking text messages.  
However, when Gerard had gotten here, the bar was closed. The lights dimmed, and the neon hum of the “open” sign, was silent. The place looked abandoned, and Mikey was nowhere to be seen.   
Gerard remembered the last time this had happened. He had received a text from Mikey that had said, “I am fucking dying.”  
Gerard had broken every traffic law that there was, and had sped through Jersey like a bat out of fucking hell. Only to find his brother at a local sushi joint, high as hell, and gourging himself on wasabi. Needless to say, Gerard wasn’t fucking pleased. He hadn’t spoken to his brother for days afterward. It wasn’t until Mikey offered him popcorn over a movie marathon of Star Wars, that Gerard finally had given in and forgave him.  
Now Gerard felt a hollow feeling that rang all throughout his body. Something told him that finding his brother wouldn’t be so easy this time… and maybe once he finally did find him, he wouldn’t like what he would discover.

Gerard was about to head back towards his car, that he had left running. Smoke was pouring out of the exhaust pipe, and hitting the air like a snake. The sound of Danzig spilling from the speakers, calling him towards it. When, he got got a tugging feeling in his stomach. Gerard paused, frowning. He looked up and down the dark street, the store fronts were all dark. No one was out at this hour, and yet, he had the feeling of being watched. “Hello?” He called, but nothing answered him. Of course nothing would fucking answer him. It was a ghost town. And yet, somehow, the echo of his voice bouncing back to him felt like a million shattered phantoms. All of them, hungry.  
And then… there was the moaning. It was a low, guttural sound. It made the hair on the back of Gerard’s neck stand on end. He could hear where it was coming from, a dark alleyway that was about as welcoming as a murderer straight from Elm Street. The sound was filling Gerard’s head like cotton, until all he could make sense of was the pain that filled each pitch. Bright hot red, like a fire burning in the heart of a star. Begging to be blown out.

“Gerard.” A familiar voice coughed out. Fear, primal and stark white, turned Gerard’s legs to jelly. He recognized that voice. Of course he would, he’d recognize that voice anywhere. That voice, that had called his name so many times before, the noise usually filling him with a sense of home… now… only flooded him with horror.   
It was Mikey. 

Gerard’s legs were running towards the alley, before he could even had a chance to tell them to. Everything in his body, begging to get to his brother as quickly as possible. His soul, felt like it was trying to burst through his ribcage. Like a baseball player sprinting for home base. Gerard tore down the sidewalk, and then turned into the alley. Shadows played like cats on the walls, dancing as Gerard tried to make sense of the shapes that lay on the ground. There were bags of trash, and stay dogs, discarded bins…   
And a shape that was the same size as Mikey, huddled on the other end of the way. Curled up on its side, like a deer on the side of a highway. It’s belly swollen, and gutted, spilling red on the ground beside it.  
A noise tore itself from Gerard’s lips as he ran towards his brother, it sounded like a mix between a car crash, and Mikey’s name. Like glass, exploding, the shrapnel sparkling like crushed stars in the twilight. The sound of chaos, singing like a choir of hell-bent angels. Gerard bent down next to Mikey, tears spilling from his eyes. Wet and heavy, like rain drops. “Mikey, Mikey please. Say something!” Gerard gasped. Mikey’s chin was covered in blood, and so was his shirt. The scent was acrid, and smelled like something that spilled from the mouth of a rotting carcass. It made Gerard gag, as he quickly fumbled with his phone to dial 9-11. He swore when he hit the wrong number on the pad, and was about to chuck his flimsy flip phone into the wall, when a hand landed on his wrist. Everything in Gerard stilled, and his attention turned towards the pale fingers that were cool against his skin. “Mikey?” He breathed.

“Don’t call the pigs. They always ruin the mood.” Mikey coughed. Gerard didn’t put the phone down, and Mikey fixed him with a sad glance, “I am beyond their help now, Gerard. Trust me.” Mikey extended his hands up towards the stars that were shining like pinpricks in the bruised purple, of the new morning. “I am a God.” 

Gerard’s brows furrowed, as Mikey’s hands fell back down at his sides like they were dead weight. And that was when Mikey’s body started to twitch, as if he were a corpse on Dr. Frankenstein’s operating table. Like electricity were jumping from one nerve ending to the next. He convulsed on the ground, blood welling up from his mouth and spilling down the side of his cheek. Gerard’s heart beat was racing, as he called his brother’s name, desperately, “Mikey! Don’t fucking die on me! I need you, I need you. Don’t leave me. Please, please.” He placed both his hands on the sides of his brother’s face, and was shouting at him. As if his pleas could be heard up in heaven, itself. But Mikey’s tremors did not stop. “Snap the fuck out of it, Mikey!” Gerard screamed, and smacked one side of his brother’s face.  
Mikey stopped shaking. Gerard had never seen him lay so still, it was almost worse than the convulsions had been. “... Mikey?” Breathing his name sounded like a betrayal for some reason. Gerard could hear his pulse in his own ears, as it hammered against his ribcage. Mikey’s eyes didn’t open, and he didn’t respond either.

Everything had gone quiet. So quiet, that Gerard was sure he could hear his own heart breaking. It felt like someone had slit his wrists, as if his soul were stardust, pouring from his veins until there was nothing left of him. Until he couldn’t tell where he started, and where the pain began.   
Gerard took a deep breath, trying to get a grip on his aching chest. He needed to figure out what had happened, so that he could plan on what to do next. He looked around the alleyway, it was deserted except for the two of them. There were no clues around that suggested a mugger, or anything of the sort. However, there were blood splatters everywhere. Pools of the tar-like liquid covered the ground, and Gerard’s brows furrowed as he realized that there was far too much of the stuff, to just belong to Mikey. Which meant, there had been more than one person at this scene. 

The question was, what had they done to his brother? Gerard turned back to Mikey, and his eyes fell back on the blood stains on his shirt. He quickly lifted up the fabric to reveal… nothing. There was nothing. “What the fuck?” Gerard whispered to himself. It looked as if Mikey had been shot, but the wound was already healing. New skin was growing over the entrance wound, and it had already stopped bleeding. Gerard pressed a finger to it, and found that it was hot to the touch. “Mikey, what happened to you?” Gerard asked, but his brother didn’t reply. Another shot of pain echoed through him. Bouncing against the inside of his skull, until it was all he could think of.

Think Gerard. He thought to himself. You need to think. 

Gerard’s eyes landed on his brother’s neck, just below his collar. There was what looked to be bite marks, that were slowly turning a deep blue color. Like blood, deprived of oxygen. Dark veins were growing from it, slowly crawling their way up Mikey’s neck. Gerard’s blood turned cold. He knew what it was with a sickening certainty in that moment.  
His brother had, what the locals were starting to call, “The New Age Black Death.” The sickness had been spreading across Jersey, taking people one by one, in the night. Officials had been called in, and towns like Edison and Paterson had been blocked off. Quarantined and evacuated, as people started to fall ill, one by one. Each and every one of them, turning up with bite marks on their necks, and black veins spreading across their skin. They’d go into a comatose state, before dying. 

However, that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was what happened afterwards. Families would bury their loved ones, only to get phone calls days later saying, “Surprise! Your great grandma’s grave has been desecrated!” from the funeral homes. This happened to every single case, each one disappearing as if by magic, after being buried.  
It was almost as if the bodies were getting up, and walking out of the graves themselves. Like zombies, clawing their way out of their coffins, and into the Jersey night. Filling the air with decay, and death. 

Gerard’s mouth settled into a thin line, as he debated what to do. He couldn’t take his brother to the hospital, he just couldn’t. They’d keep him in a fucking plastic bubble, until he died, and Gerard would have to endure knowing he turned his brother into a lab rat in his last days. That was something he couldn’t stomach, it would drive him insane having that sort of thing on his conscious. Gerard bit his lip, it wasn’t like he could take him home either. Their landlord would shit bricks, and the neighbors would surely complain about the smell.

The last place Gerard could think of wasn’t far away. It was only a few blocks down, and he was sure that the host wouldn’t mind a few uninvited guests. 

Gerard scooped up his brother, and carried him back to the car. He apologized a few times, when he knocked Mikey’s head into the side door. Cringing at the sound of bone, hitting metal. But, he finally managed to get him into the back seat. Gerard shut the door, and then patted his back pocket to get his keys, but there was nothing there. He cursed, and turned on his heels backs towards the alley, where he must’ve dropped them.  
Birds were singing on the powerlines, and people were slowly starting to crawl out onto the streets. If Gerard didn’t hurry, someone would call the police when they spotted him, covered in blood. He looked as if he had just escaped a slaughter-house.   
He searched the alley, and was starting to grow inpatient, when he finally found his keys next to a beaten up converse shoe. He frowned, had that been there before? There were blood splatters next to the ALL STAR symbol, and scribbled sharpie on the toe. Gerard picked it up, and studied it for a few moments.   
Gerard’s mind wandered back to the bite marks on Mikey’s neck… they had looked as if someone had… well, bitten him.   
Someone human.   
Or at least, he hoped they were human.

Could this shoe have belonged to them? And if so, what did that mean? What monsters crawled the streets of Jersey?   
And did they have anything to do with the sickness that had taken his brother?

 

.

Pete was prepared for most of the crazy shit that happened to him. Freak lightning accidents, car wrecks, girls smacking him on the first date, Gabe Saporta. For the most part, he considered himself a laid-back, go-with-the-flow type of person. And he was proud of this.   
However, when Gerard Way showed up at his house, banging on his front door like a mad man. He was not prepared to open it to see him carrying, what looked like, the corpse of his younger brother. Gerard looked as if he had seen the devil himself, as the rain poured down in sheets, plastering his black hair to his face. It spread across his cheeks in tendrils, making him look almost mad. Patrick called from inside the house, “Pete, who the fuck is it?”

Pete blinked at Gerard a few times, “It’s… Gerard... and… Mikey?” Pete was struggling to grapple with the situation.

Gerard’s eyes were half-way manic as he explained, “Something’s wrong with Mikey.” Gerard paused for a moment, as if deciding how much he wanted to say, “He was mugged.” Pete’s mouth was hung open in a wide O, and Gerard let out a frustrated grunt, “Would you please fucking let me in?!”

“What the hell happened to his neck? Are you sure he was mugged, and not attacked by a grizzly?” Pete asked, his eyes hovering on the deep red stains that were covering Mikey’s neck. It was hard to see, but it looked as if he had been bitten. Two, bruised purple marks were leftover, and were still glistening with rain and wet blood. It made Pete’s stomach turn just by looking at them. 

“Pete! For fuck’s sake! Let me in!” Gerard barked out, his voice breaking at the end of his sentences. It sounded as if his words had been dragged through mud, and it was suddenly hard to tell whether or not it was raindrops or tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Pete’s face softened, “We’ll fix this.” He promised, and then grabbed Mikey from Gerard, lifting him over his shoulders. Gerard let out a gasp, as if he were a little kid and Pete had just stolen one of his favorite teddy bears from him. Pete raised an eyebrow at him, as his friend lingered on the doorstep. “You gonna stay out there and catch a cold, or are you coming in?” Gerard’s head had turned to look over his shoulder. Almost as if he expected someone to be waiting outside. When he turned back to finally look at Pete, there was an odd expression that hung on the edge of his lips. Somewhere between a mix of paranoia, and bewilderment. As if Gerard wasn’t quite sure how he got to be in the place he was standing. “Gerard?” Pete asked again.

Gerard’s eyes snapped up, like he realized Pete was still there. He crossed the threshold, and closed the night out behind him. The warm lamp lights swallowed up Gerard’s inky-black figure. Pete led Gerard and Mikey into the front room, where Patrick, and Joe were both sprawled out on the floor, framed by pillows and popcorn bowls, and beer cans. For a second, they were so absorbed in the video game they were playing, that they didn’t notice Pete and his two American Horror Story-eque guests enter the room. Pete cleared his throat, and Patrick looked up.   
His face paled, “Holy shit!” He exclaimed.

“Nice to see you too, Patrick.” Gerard greeted him. 

Joe paused the video game, and helped Pete place Mikey down on the couch. Pete propped his head up on a pillow, and cringed when blood started to stain the white cloth. “Dude, he’s bleeding out like a fucking gusher. Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Pete studied Mikey’s face. Now that he was in the lamp light, he could clearly see the details of him. His skin was cold, too cold. His lips were almost purple, and the usual rosey-hue was gone from his cheeks. And his eyes, were framed by dark veins, that cobwebbed away from his sockets. It made him look as if he were made of shattered glass.   
It was the eyes that struck a plink of fear on Pete’s heart strings. He recognized that look, he had seen it on pictures on the news, with headlines that read, “New Zombie Sickness Ravages Jersey Streets.” Pete suddenly felt the need to take a bath, his skin crawled with the thought of the disease.

Gerard wore a dark look, he shook his head, “I couldn’t take him the hospital.” 

“So, you brought him here? Ha!” Joe barked out a laugh, “That’s great! Patrick your skills as a doctor are obviously in high demand.” Joe nudged Patrick in the arm, and Patrick glared back at the other boy. “I’ll get some dental floss and needles, and he’ll sew Mikey right up!” Gerard threw a venomous look at Joe, that made him shut up, instantly. 

Pete had gone silent. He met Gerard’s gaze, who looked stricken and scared. Like a little kid left behind, without someone to take them home. Pete suddenly understood why Gerard had brought him here, instead of to a doctor. If it was the sickness, and Gerard had taken Mikey to the emergency room, he would have never seen him again. They would have quarantined his little brother, and Mikey would have sat in the ICU, hooked up to cold machines, being poked and prodded by doctors. Until inevitably, three days later, he would finally succumb to the new, mysterious disease and he would die. Gerard wouldn’t get to say goodbye, or hold his hand. Or even be given an idea of where Mikey would be buried, because they would burn the corpse. They’d take everything from Gerard.

It was a fate worse than death.

“Gerard… Tell us the truth. This wasn’t a mugging, was it?” Pete’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Gerard’s voice trembled, like moonlight dancing across a water’s surface, “I think… I think it’s the plague.” 

Joe and Patrick both stilled, and all of the boys stared down at Mikey in both pity and fear. Patrick was the first to move again, breaking the statue-like curse that had fallen over them for a few moments. He knelt down beside Mikey, and picked up his wrist, pressing his thumb to the inside of it. He didn’t say anything for a second, the rest of them all seemed to lean in. Curious to see what Patrick’s verdict would be. “He’s.. alive -” He began.

“Hallelujah!” Pete exclaimed, a wide grin blossoming on his face.

“But… he should be dead.” Patrick said, and then motioned for Gerard to sit down next to him. “Feel his pulse! It’s going at least 200 beats per minute! His ticker should’ve fucking tocked by now!” 

“Tocked?” Joe scrunched his nose up. “That’s just bad writing.” He said, with a shake of his head. 

Gerard checked his brother’s pulse, and his eyebrows raised in alarm. “You’re right. That’s fucking bat shit.” He breathed. His eyes lingered on his brother’s face for a few moments longer, before his face crumpled. His shoulders shaking as his head slowly sank down and rested at Mikey’s side. “I am sorry, Mikey.” He groaned, “I am so, so sorry.” Gerard clutched at his stomach, almost as if he were trying to claw the pain out of himself. 

Patrick looked over at Patrick with a raised eyebrow, that said, “Say something!” 

Pete glowered back at his friend. He might be a big mouth, but even he didn’t know how to comfort Gerard’s weeping figure. His mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the right words before finally settling on, “Now is a good time to get alcohol, right?” 

“Goddammit.” Patrick mumbled, rolling his eyes a bit. Patrick sat down beside Gerard, and patted his back. The same way an older sibling would, Pete always admired Patrick’s softness and ability to reason with people. It was one of the reasons Patrick was his best friend, he was yin where Pete was yang. Chaos and peace, mixing together. “Gerard.” Patrick started, Gerard had stopped shaking, but his eyes looked far away. As if he had sunken down into the same place his brother had, “Mikey isn’t going anywhere. We’re going to figure this out. I promise you, I will get you your brother back.” Patrick said, firmly.

Gerard looked back at him, and laughed. The sound was broken, like an out of tune violin. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” 

“Trust me. I can keep a promise.” Patrick replied. And if Gerard was doubtful, he didn’t say. A few moments lingered like stray cats, before a bolt of lightning struck the ground. The living room lit up, bright hot electric white. The lamps flickered and pulsed, before they all finally went out. Plunging them all, into darkness.


End file.
